Prisoners to Love
by Deese-Rouge-Cheveux
Summary: After a surprise incident hours after the Final Battle, Draco Malfoy is being blamed with murder. As he is tumbling into a pit of prejudice and deceit from his closest “friends,” Hermione must inevitably make a choice: to speak up, or to stay silent.
1. Prologue

**Prisoners to Love**

**Summary:** After a surprise incident hours after the Final Battle, Draco Malfoy is being blamed with murder. As he is tumbling into a pit of prejudice and deceit from his closest "friends," Hermione must inevitably make a choice: testify to try and help Draco, the innocent by her eyes; or remain silent and let Draco rot in a cell within the dungeons of Azkaban for eternity.

**Prologue: **

**The lights went out. And all I could see was Light.**

_We all sat (some of us were actually seated magically with strings holding limbs up in peculiar positions—Luna and Mr. Weasley) huddled in a corner of the overcrowded hospital. The hospital was somewhere off of the coast of Iceland, in a Wizarding community called Grenvik. Everyone's face was in that pained expression between relief and exhaustion—every muscle in the jaw tense but at the same time, that forlorn look in their eyes that suggested desolate abandon from their problems._

_I rubbed at the scar on my head, it was hurting again, and I looked at the mutilated mess that was called my left hand. That hand was the thing that clutched Voldemort's last sliver of a soul. That was the hand that strangled it, and then released it like a breath of wind into oblivion. I had no fingers, and all that was left of my palm was this wretchedly twisted and bloodied piece of skin. Of course, it was now bandaged and the magical potions currently caused the unpleasant tingle of digits building up again. _

"_Harry," interrupted the gentle and tentative voice of Hermione, "wait a second." She nursed bright red skin from a burning hex—one of the Death Eaters had somehow gotten to her. I can't believe all of this happened because of me. It was just supposed to be _me, alone_. It was my solitary journey—the journey of a hero. And, yet, too many people loved me to allow that to happen. Not to mention, too many Death Eaters cared for Voldemort's souls to not try and stop me. _

_The final battle, a cliché in my mind for ages, had started much differently than anyone could have imagined. I was alone on a hill in Shleyvborg, Iceland (another abandoned Ghost Town of Iceland). I reached into the hole I dug, and right in the center of a pile of human bones was the last Horcrux. As my hands clasped around the shiny glass containment, Lucius Malfoy screamed in terror. Where did he come from? I don't know. I grabbed my wand, but before I could curse him, Ron's voice was heard. Then, another Death Eater tried to curse Ron. Slowly, good and evil faced off. Order members appearing through the trees, Death Eaters came leaping from behind an old shack at the bottom of the hill. It was a bitter battle, and I can't believe that I have actually faced Voldemort for the last time. He had bright red eyes, and shiny, scaly white skin. All the power in the world centered in one small area. I'm glad most of my close friends are alive and surround me now. Except Ron, my best mate. He fought valiantly, but I wish—I just _wish _that McNair hadn't gotten to him in the very climax of the battle. Hit by the Killing Curse. At least he didn't suffer, then._

_My scar burns again. "…but since you've abolished all of Voldemort and his Horcruxes, why would it still—Harry, are you listening to me!" _

_I blinked and a pain shot through my head again. Ginny got up and struggled to reach me. She had her mouth sewn shut, it was gruesome but it was the only way to stop her from emitting poisonous gas every time she spoke to us. Hermione silenced, pale as a bleached clean sheet. _

_Ginny began dabbing at the sweat pouring down my face, her eyes sparkled with concern. "I'm sure it's nothing, Hermione. Voldemort is dead after all," I managed to say through gritted teeth._

_Remus confusedly reached out and pulled back my hair, as Tonks kneeled at my other side. Everyone became blurry as I struggled for air. My forehead was literally burning. I felt as if the flesh was melting like a big piece of wax from my face. _

_I had no control. My voice was shrieking hysterically; it sounded foreign to me and much too loud to really be emitted from a barely grown wizard. Fred and Bill got up from the other end of the grand room and rushed off to find a nurse, as the entire room silenced. People were staring at me. A light erupted from my scar, burning red. I desperately looked to Hermione, who was the only one of my closest that hadn't rushed to my side. She was paralyzed in her seat, staring into the darkness that lay at the end of a roped off corridor. _

"_Oh, God, Harry," Tonks whispered, mortified. _

"_Harry," Remus shouted. "Harry hold on, we can get through this, we can!"_

_Ginny's eyes flashed toward mine. The blurriness cleared for a second, and I saw with pristine vision. Three worlds collided into one—Muggle, Magical, and the Eternal. A teardrop fell from her dirty, scarred face. It landed coolly on the back of my hand. _

_The lights went out. And all I could see was light._

* * *

**AN**: Ahh, I've got to stop here for now. I promise it will turn out reaaaaaally long and reaaaally good. Please review, I really want feedback. This is just the beginning! Don't worry, it's not in first person beyond this chapter I don't think. There will be plenty of smut, Draco/Hermione (duh), and drama along the way. Immediately. I'm sure you can already tell. 

deese avec les cheveux _rouge_


	2. Chapter 1:A White Lamb in a Sea of Black

AN: Thank you to my reviewers…:) I like criticism... especially the kind I can explain. Some of you (Fuego) were wondering how Hermione knew Harry's scar was hurting when he was only thinking of how badly it hurt. It's mentioned that he does rub it, probably with a pained expression like he usually does. And he most likely looks ill, but we can't see that from his POV.

Also, for purpose of plot smoothness and… pure interest… I have decided to do Switching Perspectives. Whenever you see a breaker, it means the perspective is changing to a different character (Hermione to Draco, most likely!). It should be pretty easy to pick up, if isn't stupid about it. I'll stop rambling now:P

**Chapter One: A White Lamb in a Sea of Black Sheep **

Even though it was awful, and I still had red puffy eyes, the Logical Hermione in me kept with the mantra that it was a suitable end to his suffering. Harry no longer had to deal with the pain of losing just about everyone he really loved, nor the anxiety that Voldemort would somehow come back. I dabbed at my eyes with a black handkerchief. The more Human Hermione argued back that it wasn't fair—I lost my two best friends in a nasty war. How was I to do deal with the aftermath alone?

Mrs. Weasley put an arm around my shoulder. She was draped in a rather raggedy velvet dressing robe, with a pointed black witch's hat. Tears leaked silently down her face—she mourned the loss of an extended son. We were sitting in the front row in his Wizard funeral; a stone monument holding his ashes in a private field within the outskirts of Godric's Hollow. It housed large willow trees; Harry's marble monument stood in the middle of a small clearing, so the sunlight shone brilliantly upon the white masterpiece.

I choked back a sob, _Pull yourself together, Hermione; you're stronger than this. You are not a blubbering mess of a little girl; you are a full-grown woman and can deal with death_. I put the black cloth to my eyes again, and then covered my mouth with it to steady my breathing. Ginny was on my other side, her long red hair pulled up in a bun, wearing a long lacy Muggle dress that was somehow appropriate for Harry's funeral service. Her head was tilted to face the ground, her tiny frame shaking with silent sobs as she hugged herself for support. I sighed, glancing back to Remus and Tonks who had opted to stay in the last row (there were only three rows) for safety reasons. Tonks was pale with long black hair and a dark robe, and Remus looked just as depressed and stricken.

It was a really small funeral, like Harry would have wanted. People who really knew him and cared about him were invited. While he reached the entire Wizarding community, and the entire world simply _cared_ for him, there were few that he let in. I have always hoped he felt I was dependable and a good, smart friend. We were such an amazing trio, we _worked_ together. Really worked.

"…and I just want to wrap this little speech up and say what we all have always wished Harry would know. Harry, you were a good man, and we all love you. Unconditionally." Mr. Weasley, clad in a black suit with gray pinstripes, coughed in a masculine cover-up of bawling, and stepped off the little platform to his seat next to Molly. Since there were so few here, we didn't even bother with the microphone charms.

The little wizard holding the ceremony stood up again and cleared his throat. He was Harry's appointed lawyer of sorts, as Harry did not leave a written out will or anything. His death was almost completely surprising—if he weren't the Boy Who Lived to Die… The little wizard had conjured up a Spiritual Contract where, moments before his soul slipped away, explained how he would like his funeral and how to split up his fortune. Hermione would never understand how that piece of intense magic worked, but it did and she was here… so it must be foolproof.

"Now, we all may step up, one by one to pay last respects to Harry James Potter." He cleared his throat nervously again, picked up his black robes that were much too long for his short frame, and stepped to the side.

Ginny was first, gliding slowly to the marble stone block. She let her fingers caress slowly over the engraved letters, before resting her head on it. I looked away, sniffling. I heard her choke out his name, before beginning to walk back to her seat. Slowly, I stood up.

"Harry," I whispered touching the stone. "Harry… I'm so sorry I failed you. None of this makes sense. It just had to be… I… I'm so sorry."

With that, I placed a kiss to the cold stone and walked away, seeing that the first row was standing to pay their respects behind me. "Good-bye," I thought one last time, with a glance over my shoulder.

I sat down and felt numbness settle in. _Good, there's no better feeling than not feeling at all_, I thought bitterly. I stared blankly at the patches of sunlight in the distance, let my eyes blur over. Peripherally, I could see the line of black suits, dresses, and robes slowly march along up the aisle. Bill, Charlie, Fred, Luna…

I ran it through my mind for the sixty-eighth time

_I was sitting there, mentioning how Harry's scar shouldn't hurt at all. Voldemort is dead, therefore the power in his scar was dead too. It was just a scar now. Harry looked bug-eyed, he was shrieking. Everyone was silenced or crying in confusion. Luna couldn't move, she looked slightly frightened but her eyes were wide and glassy as she stared. Everyone in the room, looking this way and that, trying to point there finger on what had set off Harry. I scanned everyone, but no one seemed to be suspicious. It was then that my eyes reached the corridor that was roped off. It was closed because of a magical failure—too much medicine in one small area had caused a collapse in the fields of magic. I memorized the faces in the room, various classmates and older witches and wizards. There, in the darkness, someone shrouded and just barely out of sight. A blinding red light flashed around the room. I shielded my face, trying not to blink and stare at the figure in the hallway. My eyes watered, but the flash illuminated only to the tip of a wand. A wand—there was a Witch or Wizard cursing Harry! I squinted and tried to keep my eyes open, but it was futile. The light burnt at my eyes, and my skin, until I was forced to shut them and cry to myself for my failure. When the red light ceased, I opened my eyes in time to see the wand fall to the ground. I looked around, but no one was in the darkness anymore._

…Neville, McGonagall, Moody, Remus, Tonks…

My heart stopped, the trail of black was abruptly stopped. I glanced up, in astonishment, to see a man in a _white_ Muggle suit and one of those hats you see in 1920's movies. Everyone else barely noticed, which shocked me even more when I saw the sun gleam off of the hair beneath that suave white hat. It was platinum blond.

The man knelt before the monument, before standing and kissing the spot which I had kissed. He ran his long, manicured hands alone the white stone before slowly sauntering to the very last seat set up for this funeral. Malfoy? This was absurd. Of course, after Dumbledore died, he would have volunteered to be a spy… that would make sense, right? Harry had told me all about Malfoy's betrayal to Voldemort by not killing… No, that wouldn't make sense. Malfoy would never betray his father for all that is _good _and _righteous_.

I blinked several times, and spun around to capture his form again. In all of the black robes, there he was, wearing pristine white. Muggle clothes, too! My mouth hung open a little, but I quickly faced forward once again. Well, how else could he have gotten an invitation to come to Harry's funeral? Harry would have known _something_, even in his partial-ghost form.

I rolled the idea over and over in my head, thinking of my last year at Hogwarts. Could Draco Malfoy really have been playing the role of spy? It was unbelievable! Everyone was dismissed at last, and I left the Weasleys (those unclaimed by death) to mourn alone. I rushed to the back of the twenty-chair gathering.

The man in the white suit, presumably Malfoy, had already begun walking towards the exit of the Godric's Hollow memorial site. I rushed, damning myself for wearing heels but thanking myself for at least wearing a looser black Muggle dress. I reached out, finally, grabbing the shoulder of the man. "Wait!" I shouted, out of breath.

He stopped, and slowly turned to face me. I took in the tipped and tilted white hat, and white ribbon around it. I gazed and noticed that the white suit had tiny pin stripes in an even brighter white, and took in his carefully pressed oxford shirt and white tie. I heaved for a second longer, before calming myself as I drank in the image of his sharp features and piercing eyes. "Yes?"

"Malfoy?" I blinked to make sure this wasn't some nasty illusion.

"Granger," he said dully, as if amusing himself was too tiresome at the moment.

"What are you doing here? How…? I mean," I stuttered, and finally trailed off at my loss of speech.

"I knew Harry too," he said softly. Then, the typical Malfoy persona took over, putting up his usual guard. "I got an invitation, didn't I? And I'm here, aren't I? What else matters?"

He whirled around, took a few more steps, and was at the boundary of the Apparition field. He looked back at me, before… was it a sigh? I could only sense something in his stature, but in a split-second it was gone. He turned to face the other way, and with a crack he was gone.

What was this? I knew that the war had put a new light on many people—sometimes not the nicest one either. Percy turned out _evil_, trying to take down Neville with a Cruciatus curse! But, putting a nice light on _Malfoy_? He was too much of an arrogant, prejudiced prat to go under a conversion!

It still didn't explain why Harry would want him at his memorial service funeral. And, on top of that, what was he doing wearing all _white_? Surely that was a sign of disrespect—we came here to mourn, not to saunter off happily.

My mind wouldn't let me accuse that of Draco Malfoy. Something pulled at the back of my thoughts, whispering: _He didn't seem so pompous when he knelt before Harry Potter's memorial stone. He didn't seem so high and happy when he kissed Harry's engraved last name…_

I shook my head in disbelief. This was absurd; I kicked that small voice out of my mind and turned back to the nice numbness that was left inside of me. I couldn't think about this now.

I strolled silently back to my chair. This was the aftermath. The part where I am supposed to be thinking of my new life, the part where I _should_ be in the Three Broomsticks cheering Ron and Harry on a job well done. Instead, I picked up my black clutch and took one last look at the shiny marble stone—it stood four feet tall and about two feet wide. The sun hit it just perfectly at four in the afternoon—a photographer's orgy of perfect "God Rays" coming through the lazy trees.

Sighing, I turned my back to it and begun the walk back down and out of the park. The Weasleys were entering a black Ministry car, but mostly everyone else had cleared out of this peaceful woodland. I caught a glimpse of Luna Apparating, before I spotted Remus and Tonks quietly talking against a tree in the distance, near the dirt road. Tonks pulled her hair behind her ears, leaning her back further against the orange tree. Remus put an arm against the tree behind her in a distinctly intimate position. I watched candidly as Tonks' hair slowly turned a deep chestnut, shining cherry red in places. Her skin livened up a bit from its ghostly white, as Remus leaned in. He smiled, and she laughed quietly. The noise drifted back to my ears, tickling softly through the leaves, traveling along the breeze. They gently kissed. I looked away, making a loud shuffle as I neared the boundaries of the park.

They broke apart and Tonks blushed, her hair turning pink and shortening to a pixie cut. "Hi, Hermione, you want us to come with you?" Remus cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"There's no need," I heard myself replying automatically. "I'm a big girl now, Remus. I'll see you two around, though."

"Keep in touch!" I heard Remus shout as I took out my wand and disappeared. Six funerals in six days—the last being Ron's and then Harry's.

_Without you, the ground thaws_

_The rain falls_

_The grass grows_

_Without you, the seeds root_

_The flowers bloom_

_The children play_

_The stars gleam_

_The poets dream_

_The eagles fly_

_Without you_

_The Earth turns_

_The sun burns_

_But I die, without you_

* * *

AN: That's it for this chapter… We only saw Hermione! Sorry guys! Heh, but we should get into Draco's mind soon. ; ) And, yes, please do leave **a _review_**. I really love 'em. I know this chapter was kind of morbid, but I was trying not to be hugely angsty where we get a scene of Hermione sitting in the shower cutting herself or attempting suicide… I hope this was a good balance? There was also a lot of background information still going on. If you couldn't tell already, this is a while after Harry died—around two or three weeks. People are in various stages of mourning. Hermione is still struggling to reach numbness and then to rationalize things…

DRC


	3. Chapter 2: Two and Two Makes Seven?

AN: Thank you for all the reviews… again! I really love getting them and reading your input. To DCoD, I cannot believe I didn't catch that. I specifically remember reading that one sentence… and thinking it might be improved, but I just didn't write OR reread it correctly.

Also, it has been suggested I put up a disclaimer. I want to reiterate, this site is called If I was anything but a fan, I would be writing this on my own and getting a publisher. :P I'm sure you're bored of my dribble sooooo…

**Chapter 2: Two and Two Makes Seven?**

I was curled up like a cat on my sofa next to the roaring fire, admiring the flickering licks the flames emitted. I carefully turned the delicate pages of _Advanced Wizarding Laws: An In Depth Look at Our Justice System_. Yawning, I shut the book at last. I rubbed at my eyes and pulled up the quilt around me. The Wizard clock on the wall had been charmed to give a soft "tick-tock-tick" and I began to get lost in my dreams…

_A man stood tall, leering into the wind. He was saying something, snidely—his tone of voice was cold and frustrated a flurry of emotions within me. He grabbed me into his arms, kissing me. Repulsed, my dream self slapped him across the face and tripped backwards. I looked up for him, but with a flash of lightning he was gone. Disappeared. I was still falling, falling, falling… I was in a hospital, wearing a white patient's gown. Picking up a parchment next to my bed, I read a few lines of indiscrete writing. It was my handwriting. I looked up and saw an owl at the hospital window, and I found myself writing some very raunchy finishing lines before walking to the bird. As I reached it, I got a sense of cold and then… I was in school again, every professor telling me how I failed them miserably as a witch. Why couldn't I be better? They had so much faith in me. I was shaking, in fear and sorrow. I opened my mouth to reply, but in a flash I was back in the hospital. There was no bird, no parchment letter. I picked up a mirror. I was Harry? Where was my scar? His scar. What? Confusion enveloped me and then… I was tumbling…_

"BREAKING NEWS! BREAKING NEWS!" the radio blasted. Grumbling, I went to hit off my alarm. Where _is_ the snooze button and why isn't it going off!

Grumbling, I tried to pull back the mess that is my "hair." Resorting to the wand method, I pinned it back in a bun. Rubbing at my eyes, I sat up to inspect the radio. But it wasn't a clock or an alarm. So why was it blasting infernally?

"BREAKING NEWS IN THE WIZARDING WORLD! THE STORY OF A YEAR!" the announcer shouted. What could be so important to automatically turn on my radio? I ignored the shouting—gossip, most likely. Maybe someone big and important was getting married.

Yawning, I went to make myself coffee and grabbed a pastry via wand. I sat at the kitchenette table staring out the small windows. It was unusually sunny, and it gave me a picturesque morning scene. Sipping quietly at my coffee, and taking nibbles at the pastry, I tried to ponder what I last learned in my book last night. Laws. _Eh, it's a lost cause. Boring, boring, and boring._ I tried to keep from a smile, that book was my Instant-Sleep Potion.

I stretched out my legs and leaned back in my nightgown. I had a relatively small apartment, but I liked to call it _quaint_. I had the small sitting room with my sofa and a few bookshelves by the fireplace. It joined into my small kitchen, which was really a few cupboards and a stove oven. Then this was my nook, a small table by the windows. It jutted out, like it was _in_ the added window space. And I had my room and bathroom. Very small, but I liked it; particularly for its views from the old, carved out windows. It was an antique to me.

Pulled from my thoughts, I heard a dull scratching at my window. Jumping up, I let the owl in, giving him some of my pastry. He dropped a _hugely thick_ issue of _The Daily Prophet_ on my table. Its weight caused my coffee to slosh dangerously within its mug.

"Thank you," I mumbled to the bird before it swooped off. "Well this is odd…"

Humming to myself idly, I took one last sip of coffee before banishing it with my wand. I picked up the very thick newspaper and unfolded it. Within seconds my eyes enlarged.

**_DEATH OF HARRY POTTER, VERDICT MUDER: WHO DID IT? READ MORE INSIDE_**

Gasping for breath, I scanned the first six long pages. All of it detailed Harry's life, and gave a brief history of the "great Potter bloodline." Reaching the seventh page, I nearly cried out in shock as I read the headline.

_**SUSPECTS IN CUSTODY FOR POTTER'S MURDER: But how did he die?**_

Growling, I flipped through more pages on theories of curses and Dark Arts used to cause Harry's unfair death. Finally, page thirteen came. Relief set in, as I knew this was the story that would give me answers.

_**PUREBLOOD DRACO MALFOY WANTED FOR MURDER OF THE WIZARDING WORLD'S SAVIOR**_

I was so shocked that tears fell from my eyes for no reason. Before thinking, I quickly skimmed the articles below.

They detailed the Malfoy prejudice against mixed marriages between Muggle and Magic. They detailed Lucius Malfoy's large investment in Dark Arts; they finished the story on Mr. Malfoy Sr. was locked in Azkaban for his close involvement with Voldemort, and how he died a year ago. They detailed Narcissa Malfoy's passive, slowly advancing insanity—how three weeks before Harry's death, right after the Final Battle she was put into hospital care by her son. Then, they finally made a mockery of Draco Malfoy's name. I was for it in the beginning, but as I read on in the article I realized that they were trying to portray Malfoy as a vile, violent, bloodthirsty creature that would not be satisfied until Harry died (well, that was obviously done with), and until every Muggle and Muggle-born were extinguished.

I knew this wasn't true to the tee, but it mostly added up. "_From the tender age of eleven, Malfoy entered Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, vowing cruel treatment to all beneath him." _Yes, he had been most abhorrent to me. But wasn't he raised this way? Under prejudice and immense pride for himself?

Sighing, I finished the articles and put the newspaper heavily back to the table. It was a special issue. Twenty pages on Harry's death. And then all the regular stories, articles and news lay behind it, making the paper twice as big.

I shut my eyes and tried to remember what happened in that hospital room. Sixty-ninth time….

Gasping in horror, my eyes shot open.

* * *

I felt the end of the strenuous DisApparation come. I landed at the door of my inherited Manor, before ringing the bell. I was let in by our House-Elf— Winky or Dinky or something like that. I dismissed him… or her… immediately, before waltzing into the sitting parlor. It was full of large, Victorian furniture. My favorite was the satiny, blue cloth fainting chair. I would have opted for it now, except for the entrance of an unwelcome guest.

"Master," whispered Zinky with a deep bow.

"What is it now?" I mumbled. Not angrily, but definitely not a voice full of appreciation.

"Master, Pinky comes to tell Master that Master have a guest… a Mr. Lestrange," the House-Elf spoke with jittery mannerisms.

"Tell him I am very ill and will be visiting only with the family MediWizard until I know what is plaguing me," I replied heavily. It wasn't a lie—why would I ever lie to Rodolpus; he would find a way to make consequences dire. With or without Voldemort still alive.

"Yes, Master," Wrinkly said with a gracious bow which finished so low that his floppy ears hit the Oriental rug. With a pop, she disappeared.

I had only told partial truth, but I did not outright _lie_. That's the first rule when surviving as a suspected spy. You can't just _lie_—there are too many ifs and buts about it. Someone could find out; someone could trick you into saying something that wasn't what you had fibbed earlier; someone could personally see and testify that you had done something that you are saying you didn't do; and you yourself could mess-up and get your stories crossed. And this rule of thumb is not just for spies or for Death Eaters—it is for _Malfoys_ to survive in the new, liberal, equal-rights Wizarding World.

Every move and every word I say must be calculated. My statement that will be precisely repeated to Rodolphus Lestrange, for example, is not a lie. I do not plan on seeing anyone in the next few days. I will call up the family MediWizard for a headache serum and a Dreamless Sleeping Drought. I may never know what is plaguing me, but for the next few days I am going to be preoccupied with remedying exactly _what _my identity for the past few years was… and I believe, until I figure out _who_ I am and who I was, I will not be seeing anyone who may influence me. Which is everyone.

The Magical World is labeled now. I've seen it. People walk down the streets, glaring at one another, searching for a sign. It's like we all have "GOOD" or "EVIL" stamped on our robes. For example, I was in Diagon Alley the other day. A mother was walking with her son, who must have been around seven. I watched as another mother and her _daughter_ walked down from the opposite side of the alley. The son of the first mother was playing with a toy airplane, it would be considered Muggle and therefore plebian, except it was charmed to fly by the way the young boy moved his index finger. The second mother and her daughter were simply strutting quickly down the slightly crowded area. The son was bumped into by a man, who apologized as he rushed off. This caused the boys finger to zigzag around. The toy airplane hit the little girl, just a mere bump and definitely nothing serious. The first mother dusted off her son, who had fallen and began to walk away. The second mother started shouting at the first. The first mother must have been evil, to raise her son in such a way that accidents may happen to him. The first mother simply shook her head and shouted back that it was no one's fault. She stamped herself as good.

I sighed, and tried to clear my thoughts. The point of my long tangent was that everyone was out to label everyone else as bad. And everyone is self-righteous now. "Good. Good. Oh, they must be bad. I don't know them. Bad, bad, bad." It's like the entire world is taking two and two and coming up with seven! It's ridiculous.

Grumbling, I stood up and stretched. Kinky popped back into the room, with another huge bow. "Master, Mr. Lestrange says 'I am sorry to hear that Draco is feeling ill, please let him know that there are some important matters to discuss about the continuance of Death Eaters. Please let him know to Floo me or send me an Owl immediately when he is better…' And then Mr. Lestrange leave, Master. He pick up his robe and walk out. As he on porch…"

The little House-Elf looked terrified. Most do when they tell secrets. Intrigued, I urged him to go on. "Please, let Master know what Mr. Lestrange did or said before he left."

Hinkzy blinked with wide eyes, "Master, Pinky is not supposed to eaves drop." She started hitting her head in frustration.

"Tell me _now_, exactly what you heard. This is an order." I said sternly, confidently.

"He says into his wand, 'Malfoy is not speaking with me, let alone any of what should be considered his kin. This should confirm to everyone at our meeting. He is out of time with the Death Eaters. He is not loyal.'" Oinky mumbled in imitation before ending in a fit of sobs.

"Curious," I replied, my mind swelling with thoughts. "Why are you sobbing, you dolt, get out!"

Tinkly sniffled and popped away. I decided to lie down on the fainting couch, staring at the ceiling. I had just come back from Harry Potter's top-secret funeral service. No one had found out, except for Granger. The others had all been fooled by my enchantment. Everything white was supposed to turn up black in others eyes. My suit, my shoes, my tie, my hair, and even my skin… Maybe Granger had a trained, powerful mind, which could see through simple enchantments… But it just didn't make sense.

Shrugging, I kicked off my shoes. I reached for my wand to undo the spell. With a sweeping motion I was "normal" again. I stared at the wand in my hands. Was it a shade darker than…?

Stopping dead, I dropped it. This wasn't my wand. My wand was slightly lighter. It was more… it was more _Malfoy_. This one…

Panicking slightly, I took a deep breath. Sure, no one was around, but I wanted to keep my composure just the same. It wasn't Malfoy to loose it over a stolen wand. Why would someone steal my wand and replace it with another one? And why wouldn't I notice?

I calmed these thoughts and picked up the piece of wood like it was a contaminated piece of bathroom tissue. Summoning a towel, I wrapped it around the wand and thought for a few minutes. My father had shown me this spell once.

Flicking my wrist in complicated twirls, and then twisting my palm upward, I spoke some heavy words:

"_Melaconan, diaspernum,_

_Trees of the East, Sun of the West,_

_Pieronus, Lunarsunt,_

_Ancient powers of the faithless,_

_Conjurnum, may mort,_

_Stitches in time, purest of pure,_

_Come now, descend upon these hands,_

_And discern for me, the younger and less cured,_

_And decide if this is my true power, my true tool of magic_

_Melaconan, diaspernum, _

_Rianyament, Tiolicarum_."

Taking a deep breath, a silver and green light enveloped me and the wand. It took thirty seconds, no more, but it felt like an eternity and drained me of my magical energy.

The wand flew from my hands and burst into green and white flames. "Well, I guess _that_ answers my question…"

"House-Elf... Pinky?" I shouted. With a pop, the little House-Elf appeared. "Clear out these ashes. I am missing my wand, if you could put out an Owl to the ministry for me explaining I have been with a fake wand for at least… six weeks."

The House-Elf bowed and popped away. I sat back down, covering my eyes. What was I considering? I blinked several times. My identity. Was I really a spy for the good side, as Harry so believed? Or was I really a double-edged sword for Voldemort to use? Was I truly … evil?

Moaning, I rolled onto my side. "Assistance!" I called and a new House-Elf popped into the room. "I want Ogden's. Now."

"Yes, Master," the high-pitched voice replied, before bowing away and invisibly placing the glass of alcohol on my coffee table.

I had barely time to think. It is very hard to be so calculated, all the time. This need to be so perfect must have contributed to why I had been walking around with a switched out wand for the past month and a half. Three weeks ago Harry Potter died, a technical day before that was the Final Battle, and three weeks before that… What was I doing then? I had been to Madam Malkin's for new dress robes for Pansy Parkinson's early wedding to Blaise Zabini. They were very nice robes, dark green with silver sparkles. A bit feminine, but that never hurt a man. Girls were into that sort of well-groomed thing. And Malfoys were _always_ well-groomed. Shaking my head, I realized that in my pursuit to look the picture of perfection, I must have put my wand down while I was changing.

Thinking it over, it was actually quite hard to be a Malfoy. Parents expecting the best racist personality you can come up with, prejudice, arrogance, good looks… You had to have it all. Especially key was an interest and talent in the Dark Arts, that was an important skill. But now, I was the last one. I was the last one… My father's influence is gone. He died in Azkaban after being "found out" as evil. My mother was driven insane by him, and when he was finally gone she did not know how to live. So now she is living at Saint Christian's Mental Institute for the Magically Gifted. She's not dead; she's not living.

So who am I now? No one can tell me how to act. No one expects me to act a certain way. I don't think I'm "evil," but for what I've done… things I've _had_ to do at the will of others above me… I am not "good." I am far from good. I lay between the two norms, lost in the color grey.

"Master," chimed in yet another House-Elf. "Master, Mimi gone and looks out at gates to Malfoy Estate… Looks out is Mimi's job…"

"Yes, yes, what is it?" I say. You really have to loose your patience with these creatures.

"Mimi comes to tell Master unwanted guests rushing up here now," Mimi squeaked.

"_Who_?" I leapt up. Now I don't have a wand; I am completely unprotected. Thanks a _lot_, for that spell, Dad.

"Mimi is s-s-s-sorry…"

"Who is it?" I shout.

There's a series of shotgun-like noises. _Crack! Crack!_ I am surrounded by a group of Aurors, at least, I think. I sneer and smirk, my mask on already. "To what do I owe the pleasure of this lovely, uninvited company, gentlemen?"

They surround me with spells and arrest me. I simply smirk.

To be a Malfoy, lastly, is to _always_ be misunderstood.

* * *

AN: Yay? Nay? That was three thousand words, guys. :P Long chapter. I wanted to let you know that Draco is unguarded in his thoughts… I tried to make that clear in his attitude when other people are around, even when it's just his House-Elves. From his reaction to Hermione at the funeral, to his sudden old smarmy self when Aurors show up. :D Oooo, what happens to Draco? From HIS point of view? **Review!**


	4. Chapter 3: Me Against the World

AN: Thank you to my reviewer… despite the lack of feedback, I am going to keep going because I know my story has potential. : ) But I know I would update much quicker if I got more reviews…

**Chapter 3: Me Against the World**

The fat wizard laughed harshly into my face. I dismally thought about filling out a form to put in the suggestion box: _Mandatory breath mints for all interrogators. _"You expect me to believe that cockamamie story?"

"I don't expect you to believe anything I say, actually," I remarked. Hey, it was true. Yawning, I looked at the small holding room I was in. Beige, or eggshell white, walls with a tiny little light hanging above me where a torch sat giving a warmer shine to the boring area. I was sitting in a rickety chair, with a small metal table in front of me. "Though, I must thank you for this glass of 'water,' detective. It is really thoughtful of you to try and drug me with Veritaserum."

"What?" He snapped his head towards me again, stopping his pacing. He had a bulbous red face and a gross little mustache. I wondered if he actually _didn't _lace that glass of water.

"Well?" I said, grabbing the glass and drinking deeply. I waited a few moments. "Ask away, old man, I am an open book."

He eyed me nervously, pondering if I put up a block to the potion or had taken a drought earlier to prevent my response to this magic. Clearing his throat, he said, "Where were you when Harry Potter was murdered?"

"I was in the hospital holding room. Ask anyone there, I was mortified, really. I didn't know what to do, no one did…" I said before I could try and mask the vulnerability. That's the one thing I hated about Veritaserum. You could never maintain your image under it.

"Was it Dark Magic that killed Harry Potter?" the man paused uncomfortably, deciding to keep questions small and to the point.

"Yes. Obviously," I added in snidely. Thank goodness for obvious answers.

"Do you know what kind of spell it was?" he quickly returned.

Sweating, I tried to not say anything. But this was Veritaserum. I couldn't _not_ say anything. I shouldn't have drunk that water. "Well, I can't say I don't have speculations. I thought about in the past weeks. It might have been a Dark Ruin spell with powers from Stonehenge. Or it could have been a natural curse from _Dark Spells from Grindewauld the Great Volume 2_. The red flash it blinded us with could have been from a connection to Mars, if it was in the right alignment."

Shutting my mouth tightly, I frowned. It was incriminating to know so much about the Dark Arts.

"You know a lot about this, eh?" He cackled and grinned happily. If he present just right, if he used my words out of context, I would be done for.

"Of course I do. My father was deeply involved with Voldemort and would be daft if he didn't try to instill it in his son. But I didn't buy it, I serve no one." The Veritaserum tingled in my mouth. _Dammit, Draco, keep digging that grave_.

"Do you know who killed Harry James Potter?" he asked, jabbing again in the dark.

"No, I do not. It may have been a Death Eater." I replied. Not that my response would help me in any way.

"Would you be willing to give us a list of the names of Death Eaters that are still supporting the Dark Arts?" he asked pointedly, suddenly slamming his hands down on the table and staring me harshly in the eye.

I bit my lip hard, trying to stop this word vomit from my mouth. Sweat was gathering on my forehead, and I felt warmth and pain spread my lower lip. Copper blood dribbled down my chin. I couldn't breathe.

"No, I would not. They would do me more harm than you can. I'd rather rot in Azkaban than be tortured mercilessly for three months before being driven mad for the rest of my life. Even if it did do a service for the good of the Wizarding World."

The detective roared angrily and rattled the table more. He could not ask me who these persons were under Veritaserum, because I cast a spell to repress memories of house meetings and my father's "visitors."

"I order you, under the name of the Ministry of Magic, to divulge any names you know concerning Dark Arts supporters." He howled into my ear, pacing around me.

Sighing with relief, I smirked and replied, "I do not recall any names, everyone always wears a mask, but I am sure you know of this."

"Fine, I see how you are playing. Memory modifiers. Very clever, _Mister_ Malfoy! As they say, like _father_," he spit out in a hiss, "like _son._ Rotten apples don't fall far from the decaying tree!"

"Please do not provoke me under such insults," I replied easily. "I do not want to hurt anyone."

He grabbed his wand and spoke clearly into it, "This has been Interview Five-twenty-six C, section M: Detective Ralph Polenie to Draco Malfoy. _Finito_." He paused, turning to me, and cracked his neck. "Right, Mr. Malfoy. Right. I don't care if you did this heinous crime against all humanity. Whether you outright murdered Harry Potter, I don't care. I don't care if you influenced it, planned it, premeditated with someone to do the deed. I don't care if someone did indeed steal your wand. You are going to rot in Azkaban, you will be _begging_ for death. Anything despite the Dementors feeding slowly, agonizingly off of your soul. You are the last of the Malfoy bloodline and I do not care if I breech every right in the history of mankind. You will die as a known disgrace, as a coldhearted murderer. You will pay just for the association of Malfoy."

Blinking, I stared at him disbelievingly. "Very powerful speech… Mr., what is it? Polenie? I respect your hatred of the Malfoy family. But you are going to have to live with that. Somehow, I will survive, despite Harry's rather… _unfortunate_… death. And I will make sure my family legacy will go on, with every ounce of my being."

The door burst open as the newest Minister of Magic waltzed in, a young lady with a mousy look. "Did you get the confession, Ralph?"

"Not quite, but some lovely stuff we can take out of context. It's just as good," he boisterously snarled to her.

"Good boy," the minister replied happily. She took off her glasses to stare me levelly in the eye. "Can we make this a rush case? I want a hearing within the next week, and a conviction by the end of the month."

"Of course, Harietta, I will put it on high alert. Did you call _The Prophet_?" The slobbering little man was making himself a hero over my imprisonment. The uptight woman was using this to ensure her ministry reign. Slowly, it sunk into my brain. The world of Magic might actually be happy to use me as a scape goat. And no one would disagree.

"Oh, right. Well, Miss Skeeter is waiting for you out in the lobby. I was coming in here for just that—she is interested in getting a personal quote from Mr. Malfoy, and one from you, and I've already given her some files on the Malfoy Family." She turned to me, and smiled like a wolf, "It seems you've got some dirty laundry. But don't worry, public humiliation has a very good catharsis on your soul."

"We need to get going, Harietta. Get the guards and I will go make a statement—Oh, wait a second," Polenie grabbed the back of my robes and hauled me upward. "This one is under Veritaserum. I don't want the truth getting out!"

They stared at me and broke out in laughter. The minister grabbed a guard from outside to magically cuff me and limit my movement. "_Accio! Kingston Potion!_" someone in the room shouted. A bubbling purple potion shot into the guard's hand and he turned to me.

"Trust me," the deep-voiced man said sympathetically, "you are better off without the influence of the truth spell. Reporters are nasty and could ask you anything."

I simply sighed, sneered at the man, and gulped it down when he held the vial up to my mouth. "Out we go," he said sternly.

"I don't need to be ordered around," I bit. "I'm a grown man."

The guard pulled me towards the lobby of the Ministry. It wasn't far from the interrogation chamber, and before long I saw the glare of photographs being taken of me. Smirking, I stood up straight and began to change my persona. The mask was back, and before long I was a handsome gentleman smiling serenely as I walked up toward the reporters.

"Mr. Polenie! Mr. Polenie! Can you say anything about the validity of Draco Malfoy as a suspect?" came from the multiple shouts.

"All I can say to you is that the Ministry of Magic is doing everything in its power to try and eventually convict the monster behind this murder on humanity," said Polenie smartly.

He backed away when I appeared with the guard, away from the raised platform as I was escorted to it. He glared at me, which was quite immature in my opinion. _At least keep a watchful eye on the cameras, you fool! _

The guard shouted clearly, "Mr. Malfoy cannot entertain too many questions, especially in-depth with his case. I ask you to be brief."

"Mr. Malfoy! Mr. Malfoy!" they all roared. I simply smiled and nodded gentlemanly until one of their voices broke over the others.

"**Mr. Malfoy!** Can you make a statement concerning your innocence for this murder?"

"Despite the feelings against me and my family, there is no possible way I _could_ have killed Harry Potter, as I did not have my wand at the time! Your Ministry of Magic is sitting here busying the entire ministry with _me _when there is still a murderer out there, getting away with this! Another prime example of the neglect that the newest Minister has wreaked on the citizens of England! I urge all who can hear my voice to know the truth: I did not kill Harry Potter, nor do I know who did. The only reason I stand here today is because of the Minister's personal conflicts with my family! You cannot stand for this injustice! Do not let the Ministry of Magic do this to you!"

I put on another mask, after my rushed speech. It was one of innocence, giving off the most pathetic, pitiful aura I could. I was trustworthy in everyone's eyes.

As I was pulled off the platform, the Minister blushed furiously and took the stage. I raised my voice as she began to speak, "ISN'T THAT RIGHT, HARIETTA? A VENDETTA AGAINST A HARDWORKING, ENGLISH FAMILY!"

There were murmurs and excited glances and shouts, "Mrs. Barnett! Mrs. Barnett!"

I rolled my eyes when my back was turned from them. I was escorted to a holding cell in the depths of the Ministry building. I stared at the four walls. This is exactly what I did not want. Everyone had influenced me so much, their thoughts clogged my head, shouting to me who my character _really_ was. I needed to find that out myself. And now I had already gone and acted badly, putting on an evil mask and thinking shrewdly again. I needed to just clear my thoughts and find my identity all over again.

Grumbling, I sat on the cot and began a "soul-search." How very un-Malfoy. It was disgustingly vulnerable and stereotypically "troubled."

Finding a new self-loathing for this type of crisis, I punched a wall and realized it was eleven a.m. and I had been interrogated and beat around all night. I resolved to catch some shuteye before deciding which side my loyalties lay with.

* * *

Gaping, I grabbed my wand and turned on a projection from the Wizarding News channel. I saw some slimy Ministry detective speaking about Malfoy. I nervously listened to his accusations.

"_For those of you just tuning in,"_ the reporter professionally added while the man left the stage and a new person was getting set up, _"we stand here today to report to all of the Wizarding World that Harry Potter's murderer is supposedly in custody. The shocking news? The suspect for this crime is esteemed wizard, Draco Malfoy. Would he risk his aristocratic family legacy for the murder of Potter? Let's find out!" _

The projection zoomed in on the stage to show Draco Malfoy smiling like a gentleman before the crowds. I blinked several times, to adjust to such an inviting figure. Usually Malfoy was sneering, leering, or smirking smugly. Not seeming so innocent, so pure… so perfect to the world's inspecting eyes.

"_Despite the feelings against me and my family, there is no possible way I could have killed Harry Potter, as I did not have my wand at the time! Your Ministry of Magic is sitting here busying the entire ministry with me when there is still a murderer out there, getting away with this! Another prime example of the neglect that the newest Minister has wreaked on the citizens of England! I urge all who can hear my voice to know the truth: I did not kill Harry Potter, nor do I know who did. The only reason I stand here today is because of the Minister's personal conflicts with my family! You cannot stand for this injustice! Do not let the Ministry of Magic do this to you!"_

I sat still agape, and even more confused. Nothing was adding up. Logically, someone like Draco Malfoy would of course be tied with Death Eaters and Voldemort and the like. Logically, he would have hated Harry for the connection to ruining his family. Harry was the reason Voldemort needed his father, and that had caused his father to hurt his mother so. But then again, _logically_, my mind argued back that Malfoy would not show up at Harry's funeral. Just as logically, he would never have been invited.

Something still pulled at the back of my memories. But I needed a device to help me see everything clearly, from an outside view.

First, I needed a shower and to stop by Gringott's.

* * *

Walking briskly out of the ominous bank, I clutched my purse tightly and thought of wear I needed to go. It was a small specialty shop that Remus had spoken to me about, one that would cater rare expensive magical items without having to be put on an excessive backorder. I cleared out of the streets and onto a pathway into a forest. Seeing it was safe to Apparate, I grabbed my wand and concentrated on the address _Outside 56 Teakettle Lane, in Bridgeton, Scottland._

With a quick little _pop!_, I felt myself being carried away towards my destination. It would take longer, as this was trans-country. And it was excessively tiring for my magic. Within two minutes, I landed gracefully on the front doorstep to a small cottage. Stepping back a bit, I stared around me. It was an idyllic street with shoppes lining the cobblestone avenue, all with a surrounding patch of yard. With this, every store was individual. Some were dark cottages with mud yards, while others were merry and bright with flowers overflowing from the ground.

I looked back to the building in front of me. It was excessively cute, even by my standards. Hermione Granger would never utter "cute," or even think of it. But it was a sweet little store with a warming row of white daisies popping out of the trimmed grass.

I entered and felt warmth spread through me. "Well?" said a small witch from behind the counter.

"Excuse me?" I tried to be polite, but it was distracting by the joy I felt springing forth in my chest. The store was quiet looking, with a soft armchair in the front corner. The windows had handmaid crocheted drapery, so as to allow as much lighting in as possible. A fire roared in the back of the shop, but in this situation it "_mewed happily_" in its fireplace for it was too joyous a place for roaring. A large maroon rug covered most of the creaky wooden floors, with a design of Victorian symbols and such. To my right I saw a small bookshelf with a few very rare novels and texts sitting picturesquely there. The counter behind which the woman stood was made of stone, the top of a varnished wood. She stood with a hand on her hip, smiling proudly. She had long, vibrant blonde hair and a warm, loving figure. She wore a distinctly feminine sundress which hung low on her chest. The lady's cheeks were rosy and her features delicately soft.

I shook my head to clear these thoughts, it was the most and the longest time I had ever thought about my surroundings!

"What…?" I restated.

The woman shouted in delight, "Exactly!"

"What just happened?" I said, smiling despite myself as I entered further into the room.

Before she could reply a burly man cursed from a backroom, startling the woman and myself. "What the hell did you do this time, Mary-Beth?"

"It was just a… Look, nothing, it's obviously her first time at Sweet and Meyer's, Jacob. Relax! She was blown away by our decorum!" Mary-Beth replied happily.

I blinked, "That was the… warm, fuzzy… feeling… wow…"

"Would you take the _Joy and Peace Charm_ off that door immediately! It hurts business!" The man shouted, entering fully into the store.

"And how is that?" she replied airily, brushing him off. "Anyway, we have a customer. Let's not scare her off!"

"Erm, actually, I was looking for something specific… Oh! But you have a copy of _Belinda and the Barrier_! I have only _heard_ of this novel in textbooks! A romance novel that breaks our preconceived perceptions of love, life, death, eternity and _science_!" I couldn't believe I was squealing over this. That charm must have been powerful.

"Yes, it is quite the enjoyable read…" the witch came up to me, pulling it from the bookshelf. "I am afraid it is rather costly…. Well, for a book anyway. 100 Galleons, although if you really want it I can set up a payment plan for you."

"Oh," I sighed, as she handed the old leather-bound copy to me. I caressed the cover, the engraved title and author….

"But, you were saying you came in here for something specific?" she chimed.

"Right, I need a… I bet reading this is better than _sex_!" I shouted. Then proceeded to blush a bright, cherry red.

"Uhm, maybe that charm is a bit too slow on the decline…" the beautiful witch said, grabbing her wand and whispering a few words. I felt normal again, and more of just _in awe _of the rare book.

"Right, first I want this book with that payment plan. Then, I have a need for a Pensieve. Straight away," I said professionally.

"We might have one in the backroom. Those are really, really hard to find. One that is certified and not fault, after all, is worth a lot," she mumbled. "Jacob! Can you look to see if we have a Pensieve?"

As they waited, I hummed softly, looking about at the contraptions around the room. It was a very open, spacey feeling store. Hard to achieve, especially when you are based out of a cottage, if I do say so myself.

"You've established quite a lovely shop, here," I said quietly.

"You like it?" the witch said, twirling around so her dress spun up to her knees, surrounding her in a sea of deep blue. "Oh, by the way, I am Mary-Beth Sweet. Well, it's Sweetmouztervorwitchken. But, for the sake of our shop, I have shortened it to just Sweet."

"I am Hermione Granger," I replied, smiling at her enthusiasm. In minutes, the man named Jacob came out of the back room holding a sight to behold. It was a Pensieve, made from light blue glass with silver legs. A tiny little pool for my memories.

"This baby will cost you 250 Galleons," the impressive man said, "And you need to say this spell," he thrust a parchment into my hands, "while pouring a batch of Veritaserum with the oil of a flower unique to you… into the Pensieve."

"Of course," I replied. I had learned all about this when we studied Veritaserum back at Hogwarts. A little extra reading hadn't hurt me, and it actually came in handy now. "Mine would be a Chianti Lily."

The two storekeepers stopped and looked at me when I said it, with curious expressions on their faces. "Well, then Miss Granger, I can ring you up. It will cost you two hundred and fifty… plus ten or twenty, depending on how you want to pay for that book," Mary-Beth said.

"I'll pay two-sixty then," I mumbled, fetching my purse and opening it. Thank goodness for the endless purse and shrinking charms! I handed Mary-Beth the money and grabbed the book to shove it in my purse, as I swung it around my shoulder. The Pensieve, I would hold with my own hands until I got it safely home.

* * *

**AN:** Another moderately long chapter. If you read it, please review. I want feedback (it encourages me) : ) 


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